A Tale Of Two Brothers
by FlashyDwarf
Summary: When John struggles repeatedly to gain Sherlock's interest, he knows only one man with enough power and knowledge to show him how to drive his lover crazy. But what cost will he have to pay? Expect lots of Slash, some minor BDSM and power play, all in good fun!... MycroftxJohnxSherlock.


_(Hello Readers! Today, I woke up and read through some rather rude slash fiction about SH/JW and decided I'm shipping them more than ever and I want a go at writing something naughty! However, I've decided to challenge myself a little and use Mycroft as their catalyst (just to point out there will probably be no Holmescest unless someone specifically asks for it)! Now I've had a little practise writing m/m fiction, I've decided to write some REAL m/m, expect kink, sexy times and John on his knees in various places. SherlockxJohnxMycroft, if you don't like parts of it please tell me why, otherwise reviewers and readers are loved and I look forwards to the next chapter. ;) Written from the POV of JW.)_

**Chapter One; When The Heart Wants**

_"No, John."_

The two words were all that enumerated in his head. It was piercing and abrupt and he barked the order as soon as he felt the uninvited interaction, his tone firm but not condescending, almost affectionate and yet stifled as he fought to hide a sharp gulp of surprise. His iridescent silver eyes met John's loving blues and an unexpected surge of embarrassment and indignity trickled into his auricles and swilled in his brain. Sherlock's tone was kinder than usual but he was clear, unquestionable, decided. "It's not the right time yet."

John rapidly retrieved his drifting hands from their position hovering over the remarkable and still swelling bulge of Sherlock's crotch and sat back, giving his companion room on their sofa to return himself upright.

He looked down at the reticent alabaster figure arranged before him and his eyes began to swim in a sea of humiliated tears. Sherlock sat up and smoothed the creases of his shirt, attempting to hide a blatant erection by straightening himself out and tousling his rustled hair distractedly into a more agreeable state. He tried, with a sequence of looks and cautious smiles to convey the message to John that it was merely too soon for him to commit to that level of intimacy, despite the hotness of his lower half rampantly arguing with the conclusion.

It had seemed the perfect time, John thought as he permitted Sherlock an interval to organise himself and attempt to get his disorganized cravings and lustiness under control. It was growing late, judging by the darkness of the now cobalt-blue sky which was gradually overcoming the previous lustres of a gold and red summer sunset. His passions had erupted when he had walked into their dusky living room a short while ago and spotted Sherlock sprawled across the sofa opulently, his long slender form draped majestically from one end of the fixture to the other, moulding to the form of his seat like he was made of nothing but silver silk.

John's eyes, knees and mind had all grown fragile at the spectacle before him and he had wanted nothing more than to dive onto him and straddle him, to unwind the cognitive layer of stone his not-boyfriend had built to keep affection at bay and blow kisses into the softness that lay beneath. By the time he was sat next to him, their limbs tangled together, the touching had become so intense, John squeezed in on the sofa beside him propped up on one elbow, reigning kisses across every inch of his face, neck and shoulders, that he had become uncontrollably excited. With both hands he had begun to work his fingers up and down the spine protruding faintly from Sherlock's slender back, then they had glided their way to his front, tracing lines between his shirt buttons, over his hard nipples and slowly they had found their way down his torso, flat stomach and…

"Of course." John sighed, wrapping an arm around his partner and pulling him in to an embrace that helped break the silent awkwardness growing in the room. He planted a single kiss on the corner of Sherlock's mouth which was received positively and drove the two of them into a flurry of kisses, before their passion was eventually broken by tension, causing them to break and slump moodily apart. It had been two weeks since the experimental boyfriend status had been eagerly accepted by John and they were still tentative in their explorations. John craved their relationship to achieve a greater level and perhaps become not-experimental, whereas Sherlock lacked the courage to totally commit himself to a relationship yet, a connection he had avoided making with people since he was small.

Their parting led to an evening preceded by John skulking towards the kitchen, making tea and preparing a plate of biscuits to share, then indelicately eating all the neatly arranged wafers. His partner detached his mind and sipped his tea, staring the way he often did into a world of his own. John made efforts to crack a number of witticisms which fell on unresponsive ears, talking as though to a brick wall about his day and what happened at work, to which the only reply was a 'I'm trying to think, John' in the most calm and kind manner he could manage. It took an hour of sighing uninterestedly into his papers and blog before he wandered off to bed, the moon beginning to languidly climb into the sky, where he would read a few pages of the book he had been told he 'simply must read' by Molly, before drifting into a bored sleep.

All the while, he was sure, his partner was pondering the eminence of the cosmos, half-oblivious to John's prattling endeavour to make conversation. It was a challenging life, living with someone so insensitive to the ways of worldly men, but he estimated that some things about Sherlock would never change. Of all the men on the planet, he had to fall in love with this one.

* * *

It was months before he decided to take his need for affection to the next level and seek advice. Only after repeated attempts and failures to engage Sherlock did he begin to lose patience. Their affectionate actions led to the same routine of kissing, fondling and Sherlock finally breaking away in fright despite his every effort to change the game each time, sometimes assuming dominance, sometimes submission, sometimes breaking down altogether and drawing close to begging him for relief. There was only one man he knew who could possibly hold the key to his desire, and John was desperate to unlock the tightly shut iron box known as Sherlock Holmes.

The black car had been turning up on a multitude of streets and following John for days since Mycroft had perceived the scent of dissatisfaction in his love life. It was all a game for the elder Holmes, who could pick up the trail of a belligerent relationship from a mile away like a hound and who showed a constant attentiveness to the two of them and their romantic happenings. He circled John like a predator, waiting for the time he would need his attention.

Much to the fair-haired man's shame he had enough; one summer afternoon when his affection towards Sherlock had been shunned and professed to be 'boring' he decided to seek Mycroft's help. Boring. How could the prospect of sex be boring? He climbed into the black car waiting almost on the doorstep and found himself face to face with a beautiful blonde who observed him with shimmering blue eyes and pouting pink lips, who almost disclosed she was Mycroft's agent but decided it was pointless. She smiled a few times during their extensively lengthy drive and never said a word, even when he peeled himself off the sticky leather seats and headed towards the huge structure in which he was evidently meant to meet him.

It took a few minutes for him to make his way inside the towering red brick building which looked like the remnants of a long-destroyed factory. He was alarmed to see Mycroft stood unaccompanied in the shaded rear of the single massive room which made up the entirety of the factory floor, nothing but a small black satchel and a long black cane in his hands. He smiled a wide, toothy grin visible in the darkness due to the intense lightness of his teeth, easily mistaken for predatory fangs in the gloom.

"I take it my brother has finally pushed you over the edge, so to speak, with his inattentions?" The voice was as light as a purr, his tone directly evocative. John shuddered a little but forced a strained smile.

"Indeed."

"And you knew," he began pacing slowly towards him, cane swinging lazily in one hand, eyes fixed on him, "there was only one person who might have the answers?" A nod from John, a smile from Mycroft. "You came to the right place. On your knees."

The three, simple words whispered in a demanding tone sent John reeling backwards like a smack in the face. A length of time passed briefly as he waited for Mycroft to say 'only joking' and laugh. He arched one eyebrow and shook his head, yet somehow he didn't feel obliged to leave. He stayed entirely still, which drove the elder Holmes to beam, running a hand over his short, coarse black hair. A look of bewilderment, uncomfortable body language yet he continued to stay, rooted to the spot. He was curious.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard. On. Your. Knees." He was within a few feet now and still approaching. He gently dropped his satchel which made a quiet thud as it hit the cold stone floor and rolled away, distracting John long enough for him to get close. His cane swung in one hand and was suddenly raised and brought down, used to smack the backs of John's knees, sending him thumping to the floor.

"Wha-!" he began, but found himself silenced as another blow from the heavy cane smacked him across the arm he had raised in protest. What sickened John the most was his inability to leave, and the fact he wasn't entirely upset by the happenings.

"There is one way I know of to make you interesting to my baby brother again." Another smack, this time slightly gentler, John began to blush and his groin twitched a little. "And that is to question his possession of you." Another smack. A gentle moan. "If he thinks you're mine, he will want you back. He'll be excited, it'll be a game. Which Holmes is best…" Another tap, this time on his backside, the pain sending shivers down his spine and causing him to begin to ache. "He'll want to win. But his methods will be… Somewhat more submissive than mine. I suppose you'll be able to see what you prefer for yourself… I deduce this is all new to you, as well as him." Another smack, right on the arse cheek, in the same place. It hurt like hell yet a part of him was beginning to enjoy the thrill. Pain and pleasure began to blend together.

"He won't like this." John murmured half convincingly.

"Why does it matter? Are you his boyfriend or his experiment? Has he laid a claim on your arse?" The cane was tossed aside with a loud clatter and John looked up to find Mycroft stood directly before him imperiously. The sweat began to run in little trickles down his head. He wasn't Sherlock's boyfriend. This was all a game. But a game that he wanted to change the rules to.

"I'm not his boyfriend."

"I can make him desperate for you. I can make him so interested he won't be able to help himself. Just do as I say and he'll want every part of you back. He'll turn his head. If he loves you now, he will want you to see it…" Mycroft's voice was equally as calm as before, but John noticed his trousers growing a little too tight around a widening bulge. He noted a small trace of a flush on Mycroft's face which only intensified as he pushed his weight back onto his lower legs and gazed up at him, his eyes submissive. Being the timid one evidently didn't run in the Holmes family. "Now, are you going to let the games begin, you filthy little bastard?" The voice was venomous now. Mycroft was eager and John found himself ridiculously caught up in the power play. Two individually attractive men fighting over him? It was an interesting motion. He licked his lips and regrettably let out a single word, ashamed and aroused by his desperation to get Sherlock's attention.

"Yes."

Mycroft's hand smacked down onto John's face and sent sparks of red into his vision. He bit his lip so hard blood began to spill down his chin.

"That's Mr Holmes to you, Watson. If we're playing, you need to address your master properly. Now, are you ready to play dirty, for Sherlock's attention? Are you ready to play a very, very dirty game?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes."

* * *

(Phew. That was fun. Read on later for more HolmesxWatsonxHolmes and some serious pants off fun! Ciao hungry readers!)


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